A RoadRoller at Hogwarts
by iscariot
Summary: Harry Potter: Bob the Builder Crossover. Snape as  a very bemused  mentor fic. Wizarding confusion ensues. AU warning - if only because HP doesn't have road-rollers in it...
1. Chapter 1

_So, this is me writing another Hogwarts tale - a crossover this time ... a cross with Bob the Builder [yes, you read that right: stupid bunnies]. I would have posted this in the HP/Crossover section but there is no Bob the Builder category ... so meh_

_I have to admit, I enjoyed writing this immensely - I hope you derive a similar amount of enjoyment from reading it. as with most of my stories, I have pillaged the literary and historical canon; I've also blatantly robbed the local pop-culture vault. _

_My use of the 'Heritas' spell is based upon Blueowl's 'Legacy Spell' mentioned in their story: 'To Shape and Change', which I highly recommend - I thank Blueowl for their permission in letting me use and adapt the Legacy Spell to my purposes._

_This is self beta-ed with my usual indifference - all mistakes are either: my own or your imagination. _

_I have no idea whether I will continue this; however, if I do it may do so in some sort of vignette/ experiential form - you never know._

_If you feel so inclined, please leave a review: thank you. _

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><p><em>The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable<em>

_One persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all_

_progress depends on the unreasonable man.  
><em>_**- George Bernard Shaw**_

_**Harvard Law:**__  
>Under the most rigorously controlled conditions of pressure,<br>temperature, volume, humidity, and other variables, the organism_

_will do as it damn well pleases._

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><p>The owl was old – and vastly experienced -but not so old as to be decrepit or suffering from an avian form of dementia. Dementia-addled owls were always cause for heated discussion [behind a surreptitiously raised wing] in the Owlery. Hushed discussion about how such-and-such owl had dropped a howler down the cooling tower of one of those nuclear power thingies of which the muggles seemed so enamoured or, how some-other-owl had mistakenly delivered a letter to the head of one of those fundamentalist-religious groups; admittedly, the latter had been in Massachusetts in the seventeenth century, but owls had long memories.<p>

Yet even taking into consideration the age, experience - and the peculiarities of its species' spectacular memory - this owl had never delivered a Hogwarts letter quite like this: it had even stopped to check the address – something almost unheard of in the annals of owl-kind.

_Roley_

_Machine Shed_

_Bob's Yard_

_Sunflower Valley._

It wasn't that the owl couldn't find Sunflower Valley. Finding a place called Bob's Yard, in a place called Sunflower Valley, didn't provide too much of a challenge, even the 'machine shed' wasn't especially strange after all, humans turned up in all sorts of strange places; cupboards under the stairs, for example. What was giving the owl problems was the ostensible recipient, this 'Roley'. Unbeknownst to most pretty much anyone who wasn't an owl, the addressee-locating magic utilised by owls was based on a type of personal resonance emitted by the person for whom the letter was meant; in this instance, there was no resonance – not in the normal owlish understanding of such - and this had the owl worried, worried that it might end up as an entry in those previously mentioned historical annals as one of those owls that couldn't find its target.

Oh the shame.

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><p>"'Ere, Muck, wot's that owl doin'?"<p>

"Wot owl?"

"That one, on the shed."

Muck turned to look at the shed roof and lo, there was, indeed, an owl on the roof.

"I dunno, d'ya fink it's lost or sumfing?"

"It might be broken, owls are s'pose' to be nok ... nok-sumfing, they only come out at night ..."

"I''s not night, Roly, the sun's up there."

"Tha's right, Muck. I wish Scoop was 'ere, he'd know what to do."

The two machines took a moment to digest that particular truism before returning to what they were doing previously: B.O. – Before Owl. An hour later, Muck had cause to again look in the direction of the shed roof.

"'Ere, Roly,"

"Yeh,"

"That owl..."

"Yeh? I''s still there?"

"I''s carryin' a letter."

"Owl's don' carry letters, Muck; Mister Dixon carries letters, he's a postman – not an owl."

"Spud thought he was a postman; Special Delivery Spud, he wuz callin' himself, he wasn't Mister Dixon..."

"He wasn't an owl, either..."

Owls couldn't do any worse that Spud, both machines thought, but then, Spud wasn't the brightest of scarecrows; actually, Spud wasn't the brightest of anything, but as he was their friend they accepted him for who he was and repressed the occasional urge to douse him in petrol and use him for a night-light.

"Ere, Roley, looks like Bob and Scoop are back, I can 'ear them comin' down the street."

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><p>The owl was certain now, the letter was for the green ... thing; the owl was pretty certain it wasn't a human; he'd encountered humans on a fairly regular basis throughout his career and was pretty certain that, humans:<p>

* Weren't green

* Didn't come with wheels (or things that looked like wheels)

The owl didn't question why it was delivering a letter to something that wasn't a human, after all, it had delivered to centaurs and they weren't human - they weren't green, either, his subconscious muttered.

Taking a moment to render his subconscious unconscious, the owl calculated angles and trajectories before diving off the roof on a flight path that would directly place its letter-wielding talons precisely above the recipient thus poised for the perfect delivery.

**CLUNK**

"What'd you do that for Scoop? I fink you killed it." Roley took a moment to gently nudge the owl with his roller, "You aw'right owl-y?"

The owl was not a coward. It did not frighten easily. In the course of its duties it had faced giants, vampires, chimera, and even the odd dragon, yet the sight of the large green ... thing ... nearly scared him out of his feathers; he settled for briefly fainting before achieving something unheard of in the annals of owldom – he apparated. Away.

"Where'd the owl go, Roley?" asked Scoop, who was feeling bad for having struck the bird with his back-hoe; however, he had seen it –appearing to – dive bomb his younger friend and had sought to intervene.

"Dunno," was the somewhat subdued response.

"Roley," it was Bob, standing a little way off from where the machines had gathered, "there appears to be a letter here, addressed to you."

"Musta been that letter the owl had," said Muck.

"Don't be silly, Muck," replied Bob, "owls don't carry letters."

"This one did, I saw it. So did Roley."

"Yeh Bob," added Roley, supporting the red bulldozer, "the owl-y had something in its claws."

"Well, okay, if you say so." Bob didn't sound particularly convinced but, without evidence to the contrary, had no choice but to politely accede to the assertion of his two friends. "Anyway, let's see what the letter says; shall I open it for you, Roley?"

"Okay, Bob."

Breaking the seal that held the heavy parchment closed, Bob gave the information contained therein a quick précis in preparation for reading it aloud – after all, one didn't wish to trip over one's tongue and make a mess of things. He didn't get very far, in fact, no further than the first line of the masthead, which stated: _'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'_:

"Unbelievable!"

"Wha' d'ya mean, Bob?"

"I mean I don't believe this, Roley – I think someone is playing games; apparently this is an from a school for witches and wizards." He read on, "Apparently, Roley, they are offering you a position there as a student; this is ridiculous."

"Yeh," agreed Muck, "you'd look pretty silly on a broom, Roley."

"Yes, very droll, Muck; but what I mean is that there is no such thing as a witch or a wizard. They're fantasy. So inviting someone to attend a school for such is nonsense. If I didn't know better I'd say that this was something that Spud would do."

"Except Spud can't read ... or write ..." noted Scoop, not adding the 'or think', which was gleefully lurking in the darker reaches of his subconscious.

"...Which is why I said 'if I didn't know better' ..." replied Bob, somewhat absentmindedly, as he had turned his attention back to the letter and continued to read.

As Bob read on he became increasingly agitated; after all, as a builder he was the type of person who worked in the realm of the real, with the concrete, with things that he could grasp [we won't, for the sake of narrative continuity, point out that it Bob didn't think it odd that he worked with a bunch of anthropomorphic machines] this idea that magic existed was nonsense. Finally, finishing the letter, he turned to the green roller, who had been peering over his shoulder.

"Well Roley, I don't know who'd be so cruel as to play such a joke on you but I promise that we will get to the bottom of it."

"That's okay, Bob. No harm done. Can you tell me what it says though? I mean, it was addressed to me and I can read; I can't help it if I don't have an opposable thumb."

Bob had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed, he hadn't meant to imply that Roley was stupid – yes, the road roller was young and prone to fits of frivolity that weren't necessarily in keeping with his occupation, but he wasn't stupid.

"I'm sorry, Roley," he apologised, "In essence, it says that you have been invited to this Hogwarts place and then it goes on to cover a bit of basic information about basic materials you'll need if you choose to attend; I have to admit that whomever is responsible for this has done a remarkable job; it's a very impressive piece of work."

Bob, about to launch into a wax lyrical on the subject of the quality workmanship, was brought up short by a question from Roley, who was still peering over his shoulder.

"'Ere, Bob, wha''s tha' waxy thing down the bottom of the page."

"It looks like a seal, Roley, with an embossed picture of a shoe." Bob ran his finger gently over the raised wax – again pausing to admire the intricacy of the workmanship.

"I can see little words, but I can't read them."

"Nor can I, Roley; I'll need to get my magnifying glass."

"It says, 'Tap your heels together three times and say _'there's no place like home'_ ... it's a joke," came a laconic response from behind the group.

No one had heard the distinct 'pop' of displaced air collapsing in on a previously occupied space, so focused were they on the letter – not, of course, that they would have recognised the sound for what it was but it would have alerted them to the fact that something had happened.

Quickly regaining his composure, Bob stepped forward "Who are you ... and..." he added, looking around arms askance, "Where did you come from? Were you in the office?"

"I," replied the man, sketching a sardonic bow. "Am Professor Severus Snape ... of ..." the pause was purposely dramatic and, clearly, the man was deriving no small amount of pleasure in playing up his introduction, "... Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; and no, I wasn't in your office, I was notified that my personal attention was required when you touched the seal."

"... But ... but ..."

"There is a problem?" Snape's tone was silken, a tantalising noose of come-hither entrapment – something that any of his more enlightened students would have recognised and backed away from as quickly as was decorous.

Bob, focused on the practical matter of the man's mysterious appearance missed these clues.

"Then where did you come from? You weren't in the yard and you didn't come in after myself and Scoop, so where do you come from."

"Would you believe ... magic ..."

"No."

"How about a Tardis?"

"A what?"

Snape sighed, "Never mind, another joke; I appear to be in a peculiar mood today." The potions master took a moment to gather his thoughts before proceeding." So, accepting that I wasn't here before you, didn't get here after you and that there is, apparently no evidence to indicate that I arrived by some other mundane means, what does that leave?"

"I don't know."

"Was it not Sherlock Holmes who said that: 'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth'"

"Well ... yes ..."

"So then ... magic ..."

"But magic isn't real. It doesn't exist."

A resigned sigh emanated from the potions master – as he withdrew his wand - and a muffled comment, immediately suppressed, concerning 'muggles and their bloody ideas about reality' was heard by those standing nearest to him.

"Ah yes, that ... I assume you'd like some proof – shall I turn you into a frog; I understand that is the traditional way of proving one's magical prowess."

Bob, and the machines, took a step [and, where appropriate, a wheel] back from the –clearly – deranged man (and his stick).

"No, that's fine; something a little less dramatic will be perfectly acceptable."

"Pity," Snape murmured before, with a practised flick of his wrist and a guttural '_wingarium leviosa'_ began to levitate the large, blue crane, which began to gibber in terror as it began to float around the yard at the direction of the man beneath him.

"'Ere, put Lofty down," growled Muck, "'e ain't dun nuffink to you."

"Oh, very well," acceded Snape, "Now," he said, returning his attention to Bob, "Will you accept that that was 'magical'?"

Bob sighed, "I don't really have a choice do I?"

"You always have a choice," was the enigmatic response. "Now, where can I find a..." Snape took a moment to review a parchment he had removed from his robe, "... Mister Roley?"

Roley inched forward from his friends, "That's me, I mean, I'm Roley."

For a moment, a very brief moment, Severus Snape was startled and those well versed in his expressions would have clearly interpreted his minute eyebrow lift and shoulder hunch as an imprecation against the gods for dropping him in it yet again.

"But you're a machine."

"Is that a problem?"

If he could deal with Longbottom attempting to blow him into orbit every second day for seven years, he could deal with this. "I guess not; I just need to confirm your identity."

A quick _'revealo'_ confirmed that Roley was indeed who he said he was. Snape privately admitted to confusion, how the hell was a machine going to get into Hogwarts? That being said, he was looking forward to the purebloods' – who had had conniptions to last a generation over muggle-born students - reaction to a 'thing' doing magic; no doubt there would be many a 'strongly-worded missive' to the editor of the Daily Prophet and [again] no doubt said missives would rely heavily on the use of the word 'abomination'. Snape shrugged; the wizarding world had survived the advent of the muggle-born, no doubt it would survive this.

Maybe.

Snape was roused from his reflection by a gentle nudge at his shoulder and turned to find the green roller, Roley, he corrected himself, staring at him with an earnest expression.

"Is there a problem?" he asked quietly, reiterating his earlier question.

"No, not really," replied the professor, "just considering the implications of your arrival, this assumes, of course, that you want to come to Hogwarts, that you want to learn to use magic."

"Excuse me, Professor." It was Bob, again. "But can I ask how it is that Roley is able to do magic? He is, and I mean no disrespect to you, Roley, a machine. Might I also point out that you were clearly surprised to find that Roley WAS a machine, clearly you were expecting something or perhaps that should be someONE else"

Seeing little point in prevarication of obfuscation, Snape acknowledged the point. "You are quite correct, Roley was not what I was expecting; in the magical world machines simply don't exist on an anthropomorphic level like Roley does. Frankly, I would doubt that most machines in your world function on such a level"

"... 'n anthro-wut?"

This enquiry came from a blocky red machine who, although it beggared the imagination, appeared to be hovering protectively over Roley.

"Anthropomorphic – it means, in broad terms, that something non-human has assumed, or is ascribed, human qualities. In the magical world, what machines we do have are simple and have neither personality, nor volition. Certainly we are able to fabricate marvellous simulacra, however, they are not animate at least not in the sense of retaining consciousness and self-awareness. Understand?"

"No."

Sighing gently and mentally berating himself for forgetting his audience, Snape prepared to deliver for a simpler recitation only to be stopped by Bob.

"Don't worry, Professor," he said cheerfully, "I'll explain it to them later."

"You understood that?"

"I'm a builder, not an idiot, Professor; determining the correct end of a hammer to hold wasn't the only thing I learnt at University."

It was rare that Severus Snape acknowledged fault in himself, rarer still that he acknowledged that he'd mis-judged a person so replete was his past with the necessity of making accurate, first-time character assessments.

"I apologise. I am used to teaching idiots who seldom understand anything on the first time through. It does me well to be reminded that not everyone in the universe is similarly stunted on an intellectual level. I also know better than to judge a person simply based on appearance having, myself, been judged so."

Bob shrugged, "No problem, Professor, I understand; you should see some of the people I have to work with." However, choosing not to elaborate, the 'simple' builder changed tack, "Accepting what you've said about Roley and the fact that all of my machine friends are obviously different from the machines in your world, why is it that only Roley is able to do magic?"

It was Snapes' turn to shrug, "I have no idea. I can, with Roley's permission of course, attempt to discern such."

"Roley?"

"Is it going to hurt?"

Snape allowed himself a small smile, at least this person (for he found that it was becoming harder to think of Roley as a 'machine') had sound self-preservation instincts; unlike some he could mention, "No, not at all."

"Okay then."

Taking his wand, Snape sketched an intricate pattern in front of the roller before uttering a single word: "_Heritas,"_ a moment latter he was nearly knocked off his feet by the wave of magical feedback that swept over him.

"Are you alright, Professor?" inquired Bob, ever solicitous.

Brushing himself off – and taking a moment to straighten his robes – Snape waved away the attention. "I am fine, thank you."

"Did you discover anything?"

"A significant amount. Not only do I know why Roley is able to do magic, I also have the solution to a mystery that has plagued the magical world for over a decade."

"...And? ..."

"What? Oh, sorry. Most economies, as you are probably aware, are based on trade and on the notional value of certain commodities; precious metals being a case in point. As a magical society we place value not only the standard precious metals such as gold and silver but also on magical metals, which are infinitely rarer. Somewhat over a decade ago, a major shipment of these magical metals was being transported to the most secure bank in the wizarding world, Gringotts, when it went missing."

"Well, what happened to it?"

Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts and all-around scary bat-guy (the Hufflepuff that had said that was STILL in detention) actually laughed, "It's over there," he said, pointing at Roley, "Cunningly disguised as a Road Roller. All I can surmise is that someone stole the shipment and it wound up in the muggle word and they, not knowing what they had, subjected it to the usual smelting and industrialisation processes and coincidence saw it end up being used to build Roley."

"How much of him?"

"If I read the results of the spell correctly, pretty much all of him." Snape turned to Roley and presented him with an amused bow," Congratulations, Roley, you are, as far as I am aware the only mithril-adamantium - with a few extras thrown in - machine in existence."

"What does that mean?" Roley's voice was hushed with worry as he wasn't sure he understood the implications of what was being said.

"What it means, Roley is that not only can you do magic, you ARE magic, every nut and bolt of your being is magic; so, with that being said: will you come to Hogwarts and learn to use your magic?"

"Yes."


	2. Discussions and Arrivals

_I have written another chapter on the off-chance that some[one] more people might enjoy it..._

_This chapter is written with apologies to: Badjelly the Witch [and Spike Mulligan], The Muppets, Star Wars, The entire Scottish population, The Rolling Stones [although as I am not a fan, so it is only a wee apology]_

_As always, this is self beta-ed; all mistakes are mine or, your imagination._

_Please Review [if it strikes your fancy to do so]._

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><p><em>All Go<em>_d's children are not beautiful. Most of God's children _

_are, in fact, barely presentable._

_**- Fran Lebowitz, "Metropolitan Life"**_

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><p>"Did I hear you correctly, Severus?"<p>

"As I wasn't under the impression that any of the words I used were of a particularly complex nature, Minerva, then I would say, yes you, did."

"But a machine, Severus, really." The deputy headmistress sounded almost scandalised and her mien had assumed that of a terminally outraged prune.

The potions' master shrugged "I simply answered the summons, Minerva. If you had been available, instead of doing whatever it was that was deemed more important than your job, then you would have met Roley and your questions would have been focused on how the hell we're going to make this work and NOT on questioning my sanity."

"Headmaster," the woman implored, "Surely you can't be agreein' to this madness?"

Dumbledore, eyes twinkling [by definition, Dumbledore's eyes are always twinkling so why disrupt a tradition], simply shook his head. "I'm sorry, Minerva. The Hogwart's charter clearly states that if a prospective student's name appears in The Enrolment Book then they shall be offered a place at the school."

"... But ..."

The headmaster continued, "...Nor does it say anything about race, religion, beliefs or, for that matter, species." Dumbeldore paused and gazed contemplatively at the ceiling of his office, "Admittedly, I am not aware of non-human students who, in the fine history of our school, have been offered postions ..."

"Hagrid," noted Snape in a matter-of-fact tone.

"...Hagrid notwithstanding..." the headmaster acceded, "However, I see no reason why we shouldn't take that first step."

"Excuse me, Headmaster?" It was one of the portraits, Convovulus Circumscripta, who had been a headmaster of the school in the fifteen hundreds.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"There was, in my tenure, a vampire who was offered a place at the school; unfortunately, the board went up in flames over the issue and threatened to up stakes and leave, taking their children with them. Of course the school population wasn't as large then as it is now – what with the muggle-born students – so such a move would have had disastrous consequences for the continuation of the school."

"So what, Headmaster," inquired Professor Flitwick, "Other than a set of bad puns, was the outcome?"

"Nothing, dear boy. The situation never eventuated as the vampire didn't accept the invitation, something about receiving a better offer; somewhere in darkest Wallachia I was told." Circumspecta's tone indicated his total indifference to the issue.

"Thank you, Headmaster. So, there is," continued Dumbledore, "Precedent..."

"...Of a type ..." sniped McGonnagal.

"Certainly, yes, Minerva, of a type, but as we are a school and not a research group into the semantics of daily existence I think we can move forward on the basis that an invitation to enrol at the school has, in the past, been extended to a non-human student: agreed?" The headmaster's tone made it exceptionally clear that he didn't give a flying lemon drop whether his deputy agreed or not.

"Moving forward: Severus, can you take upon yourself to meet with Mister ... erm ... the machi...,"

In any other situation, Snape might have enjoyed the headmaster's floundering, however, in this instance, he knew that getting Dumbledore onside, with the idea of Roley's attendance, from the get-go, was vital, therefore he threw the man a life saver [as opposed to a lemon drop].

"He prefers to be known as Roley, Headmaster – I don't believe there is any familial designation, and yes, to superceed your question, I have already taken it upon myself to liaise with Roley and his family with respect to ongoing enrolment procedures and his procurement of the necessary texts and materials."

"... And a pet, Severus, he must have a pet, although I don't think Magical Menagerie sells lawnmowers ..."

Dumbledore moved to intercept his deputy before she descended in quoting Robert the Bruce and William Wallace and their views on foreign invaders – as she was wont to do when agitated – and declared the staff meeting closed.

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><p><strong>Somewhere in Charing Cross Road<strong>

Parked by the side of the road, the large green road-roller somehow managed to appear forlorn as if, in the words of the Rolling Stones song, it was 'just waiting on a friend and the friend hadn't turned up.

Professor Snape had organised to meet at this spot, in front of a dilapidated music store, at eleven o'clock, it was now half-past the hour and Bob, who had come with Roley, to provide a measure of moral support, had headed off to scout the area in case there was another music store that matched the general description provided by the professor; but that was twenty minutes ago.

"Hello Roley."

The quiet greeting nearly startled the road-roller out of his paint.

"Pr... Pro ... Professor! Where did you come from?"

"From behind you; from between the music store and the bookshop next door."

"But there's nothing there."

Snape smirked, "There is if you look."

"I am looking."

"Not with your eyes, Roley, with your magic."

"How d'y' look wiv your magic, Professor? Is it like using a pair of binoculars?"

The professor was momentarily puzzled by the reference before making the association, "No Roley, it's simply a matter of paying attention it's like," Snape groped for an analogy, "like the difference between 'looking' and 'seeing.'"

Snape gestured towards the bookshop, "Now, look very closely at the bookshop and the music store. Moreover, look between them..."

"Yeh, okay, now wot?"

"Stretch out with your feelings..."

The road-roller looked suspiciously at the Hogwarts professor, "Yer pullin' my leg ... my wheel, actually ... but still ..."

"I don't understand."

Roley was about to elaborate, but two things happened. First Bob turned up and second, "I got it! I can see it! I can't fit through the door but I can see it!"

"See what, Roley?" asked Bob.

"The building between the bookshop and the music store."

"But there isn't a building between them."

"You won't see it, Bob" noted Professor Snape, "It's magical."

"Then how will I go with you and Roley?"

"Don't worry, I can guide you; the parents of muggle-born students are regularly escorted into magical territory."

Bob shrugged, "If you say so, professor, I must confess I am still adjusting to the idea that magic exists."

Snape smirked, "That offer to turn you into a frog still stands; any time you have doubts I am more than happy to introduce you to your amphibian side."

Bob laughed, "That's very kind, but, sadly, I must decline, after all whoever heard of a frog with a hammer? Running a theatre, certainly, but building? I think not."

The professor decided that discretion was the better part of satisfying that particular line of curiosity.

"But how do we get in, Professor? The door is too small for me." Roley sounded despondent.

"Don't worry, Roley, allowances have been made, plans have been laid and charms have been borrowed. Essentially, what we're doing is utilising an expansion charm, however, unlike the usual expansion charms that either enlarge a specific object or create more space within a defined object, this charm not only enlarges the object and it's various features geometrically and proportionally it also causes the environment to react proportionally to that change without suffering any change or damage to their own proportions; it's a remarkable piece of spellcraft;" Snape sighed "... and we borrowed it from a tree goblin, named Binglebonk."

"Binglebonk?"

"Never mind."

Bob was trying not to laugh.

"Shaddup," snarled the professor, "Now, if you'll excuse me ..."

Snape strode off a short distance, his agitation plain. Taking out his wand he made a short, curt gesture and uttered a short phrase, before turning and striding back to his companions.

Bob could no longer contain himself, the attempt to hold in the laughter causing him to make strangled gasps between burst of speech "You didn't really say, "_Tree, Tree, one two three, please grow very big for me_..."

"...Maybe ..." Snape looked everywhere except at his human companion.

"...Oh dear..." murmured the builder.

Before Roley could make comment, the buildings in front of the trio gave an odd groan before the world seemed to lurch and shift sideways ... and up ... and there, revealed before them through a massively enlarged brick portico, was the wonder that was Diagon Alley.

"Wow!" breathed Roley.


	3. The Battle of Diagon Alley

_OK – despite the fact that no one seems to be reading or reviewing this fic [woe ... oh woe...]; I had a hell of a lot of fun writing this chapter. Yes, Snape is – probably – horrifically OOC but I don't care as I got to use a whole lot of really cool words in context: so yay me. [And yes, I do know what they mean and no, I didn't have to look them up]. Seriously, I am working on the assumption that Snape has relaxed a hell of a lot since Voldemort's demise [we that and he's a hell of a lot of fun to write this way]._

_My thanks to Blue Owl for the pep talk – even if said personage is more kindly disposed to people than myself._

_As usual, this is self-beta-ed n a distracted fashion; all mistakes are either my own or, your imagination._

_For those of you that do read this chapter – and the fic as a whole – I hope you enjoy it._

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><p><em><strong>Hanlon's Razor:<br>**__Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity._

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><p>It was the screaming that was most disconcerting; well that and the sound of spells ricocheting off Roley's body. Fortunately, the magical metals that comprised the bulk of the road-roller appeared to absorb the majority of the magical energy so the rebounding spells were more sound than fury – Bob was also grateful for the encompassing protégo that the professor had cast upon his hardhat as the first spells began to rain down upon the trio.<p>

"What's their problem?" shouted Bob, over the racket.

Snape shrugged, before replying disparagingly "They have a problem with difference. Forget notions of racial purity, if a dark wizard came along and promised these people that their eggs would be forever perfectly poached, the sun would continue to rise and that hats would continue to be pointed – in line with the height of fashion from the fourteen hundreds; then thirty percent of them would follow him to a man."

"What about the other seventy percent?"

"Well, thirty percent would pretend there wasn't a dark lord and that there had never been a dark lord and that the whole idea was some sort of media manipulation designed to sell newspapers. Another thirty percent would consider the poached eggs thing far too radical an innovation and would write the pretender off as dangerous social malcontent; but then those people don't really approve of the wheel and are, in general, suspicious about the use of fire."

"That leaves..." Bob paused, doing a rough calculation in his head, "Ten percent."

The potions master nodded. "Of that group, four percent would write a letter to the paper complaining about 'young people today'; four percent are madder than a bag of snakes and while believing that a dark lord had appeared and was a threat to society also tend to believe – on a regular basis - that the world is going to end and that such can be predicted by deciphering hidden codes in esoteric holy books. For some reason," he noted with a straight face, "They aren't regarded as particularly reliable. This leaves approximately two percent of the population who are, not only, rational enough to recognise the threat, but will attempt to do something about it;" Snape paused, "Of course, you know what society does to rational people who bring messages of import."

The builder nodded and began to tick the options off on his fingers as he went through them: "We burn them at the stake, crucify them, imprison them, incarcerate them in psychiatric institutions or elect them to high public office so we can assassinate their character."

"Something like that," agreed Snape.

With his two companions deep in discussion, Roley continued to watch the ever-decreasing number of wizards hurling spells at them. Initially, he had been frightened. However, the seeming inability of the spells to inflict any harm had rapidly rendered the fear down to a manageable wary with a side-dish of bemusement at the bloody-minded arrogance of a group of people who, despite all evidence to the contrary, continued on in an – essentially – futile endeavour; Einstein would have been proud of them.

Actually, due to Roley's youth, such philosophical cogitations were somewhat beyond him but the essence of such was well represented in his mumbled comment that these people were stupider than a scarecrow – he had plenty of experience with that.

"Excuse me, Professor."

"Yes Roley?"

"How long will they keep this up?"

"By they," replied the Professor, indicating with a thrust of his jaw, two men at the end of the street who continued to attack the road roller "I assume you mean those two idiots?"

"Yes, Professor," acknowledged the machine, "Although, I don't know if they're idiots."

"Oh they're idiots all right, I taught them. Unfortunately, they are magically powerful, so we could be here for a while longer as they are likely to run out of steam long before it penetrates their skulls that they haven't inflicted the slightest bit of damage on you."

"Could you talk to them, Professor?" inquired Bob.

"Possibly, although as I have already used my allotment of single-syllable words for the day there might have a few problems making myself understood."

"Please, Professor;" asked Roley, "I don't want to sit here all day, I could be doing something useful," like filling in a ditch with squished wizards, he thought. "I also doubt that you wish to spend your entire day standing here watching people fire spells at me."

"Well, now that you mention it, I haven't had this much fun in ages," admitted the professor "I have a rather low opinion of human nature and I have found that it is always nice to have one's prejudices confirmed in technicolour." Snape, appeared to give delicate shudder of pleasure, "There's something about watching a visceral display of idiocy that is, at once, both poignant and, ultimately refreshing in its ability to remind one of one's place in the universe; to quote one of your muggle philosophers: 'I love the smell of napalm in the morning.'"

"I don't think that was a..." Bob consciously stopped himself from correcting his companion having rapidly come to conclusion that this was the potions masters' subtle – yet brutally sardonic - sense of humour at play, "That may well be so, Professor, but Roley's right, we have a lot to do."

Snape shrugged, "Oh very well." Raising his wand to his throat, Snape quietly cast a _sonorous _on himself before turning his attention to the two gentlemen some distance removed from him and his companions.

"Pucey! Flint! While my initial preference is, to use a political term, 'bomb you back to the stone-age', I feel that such is your familiarity with the intellectual development of that period, that it wouldn't achieve any desirable, or long-lasting, result. However, while the gentlemen with me are inclined to peaceful acts of remonstrance, I am well aware of your personal predilections so I'll put it to you this way: If you are not out of my sight by the time I count to ... " Snape considered " ... a very generous – I might add ... one, I will reduce you down to flobberworm extract and use you to re-varnish my poisons cabinet. Please indicate your understanding and assent by..."

Snape's offer was interrupted by the distant sound of two bodies apparating rapidly away.

"Pity," he murmured.

"I thought you weren't going to use any long words, professor?" queried Bob.

"That was therapeutic, Bob. All those two idiots needed to hear was: firstly, my tone, and secondly, the words 'flobberworm extract' and 'varnish' and they ceased to be a problem. Now, gentlemen, shall we proceed with our business?"

"Where to first, Professor?" inquired Roley.

"Ollivander's, I think; we need to see about getting you a wand. While the idiots in the magical world might not know what you are, Roley, every single one of them knows what a wand is and, further, the presence of a pointed stick about one's person, in this society, generally gives cause for – at least – a bit of initial caution."

As the trio progressed up the street, it was clear that they were the centre of attention. In turn, each member of the small group was deep in thought. Bob, being a builder was fascinated by the period architecture, although, if what the professor has said was true, for these people this was contemporary; he shuddered at a particularly poor piece of construction and tried not to judge. For his part, Snape was, for the umpteenth time, reassessing how he was going to integrate Roley into the magical world; if this morning's reaction was anything to go by, it would be more difficult that he originally thought. Of the three, Roley's concern was, perhaps the most basic, and the most personal; he didn't have hands, how the hell was he going to use a wand?

Each was disturbed from their thoughts by the susurration of disturbed air that indicated apparation.

Professor Snape's wand appeared to jump directly to his hand such was the speed with which it was drawn; just as quickly it disappeared.

"Don't worry, gentlemen," he said to his companions, "It's the police – well, aurors, the magical equivalent thereof," he turned to face the arrivals, "Mister Potter and, of course, Mister Weasley; to what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"

Both men grinned at their former teacher.

It was Weasley, who spoke.

"Professor, good to see you again," it wasn't even a lie – Ronald Weasley might have grown up, and grown into his own magical power, but he could no more hide a falsehood than Dumbledore could tastefully accessorise. "Can we assume that this morning's reported disturbances were your doing?"

"You can assume what you want Mister Weasley, in this instance, however, the distance between your assumption and reality is significant. Admittedly," he conceded, "Our presence," his gesture encompassed his companions, "May have precipitated the engagement, but we didn't *do* anything."

Both aurors rolled their eyes, apparently getting a straight answer out of their former teacher was no easier now than it had been in the past. "In that case," continued Weasley, "Would it not impose upon your version of reality, in too significant a fashion,for you to inform us of what happened?"

"Not at all," replied Snape. "We arrived, close-minded, parochial hysterics ensued."

"Might we then inquire, Professor, if you have any idea as to why, and I quote," teased Weasley, knowingly, 'close-minded parochial hysterics ensued'?"

"The professor snorted, "Have you suddenly become blind as well as stupid, Mister Weasley, or did you miss the large, green mechanical contraption – no offense Roley – behind me?"

It was Potter who responded, "While I agree, Professor, that muggle machines are still – somewhat - unknown in the magical world, it shouldn't be cause to precipitate a riot; have you any idea why the presence of the machine should generate such a response from certain members of the magical community?"

"It was probably when I asked someone for directions," replied Roley; not only beating the professor to the punch but visibly rocking both aurors back on their heels. Surprisingly, it was Weasley who recovered first – being married to the muggle equivalent of the 'Encyclopaedia of Everything,' tended to resign a man to the fact that he better get used to there being a whole heap of weird shit he, both, knew nothing about and had to accept.

"That'll do it," he muttered to his companion. Potter merely grinned, amused at the magical world's continuing refusal to accept that things in their world were now different.

"So, Professor," continued Potter, "Can we assume that the reports of a 'full-blown battle' in Diagon Alley were, in reality, the concluding aspects of a heated philosophical discussion which was resolved solely due to the superior nature of your arguments."

"If you say so, Mister Potter, if you say so. Now, if we might be about our business?"

"Might I ask what that might entail?" queried Potter.

"Initially, we're off to Olivander's to procure a wand."

"For?"

"Me," said Roley.

Both aurors' eyes lit up with boyish excitement: their expression reminded Snape of the time, as a boy no older than twelve, he had discovered a cache of unclaimed chocolate frogs – he shuddered inwardly at the memory of the digestive consequences that episode had entailed.

"Can I take it then, gentlemen, that you will be joining us?"

"Absolutely!"

"Wonderful," sighed the potions master, resignedly.


	4. My Roller for a Wand

_Finally, I have got around to finishing this chapter in what has been described as a crack fic –heh: it's a nice thought The hardest thing in writing a humour fic is that you don't try and force the jokes, to this end I've had to add a bit of structure to actually move the story forward a little bit – sorry about that. _

_Things also took a bit longer to produce than expected, what with study, child care, training, getting sick, landscaping and gardening around the house, learning the piano and, doing some script editing for a friend, I find myself a bit pressed for time ... funny that. _

_I hope, that if you read this, you find this chapter enjoyable – if you feel so inclined, please review._

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><p><em>The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed<br>ideas in the mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.  
><em>_**- F. Scott Fitzgerald**_

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><p>'What the hell is that?" ask Bob, pointing at Ollivanders. The builder seldom swore, but such was his level of consternation at the dilapidated shack posing as a building that he was moved to a more visceral level of remonstrance than usual.<p>

"It's Ollivander's," replied Snape, mildly.

"I can see that," Bob replied, gesturing irritably in the direction of the peeling gold lettering over the door proclaiming Ollivander's to have been 'Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC' , "and from the look of it, that's the original building."

"Don't say anything, Professor ..." came a _sotto voce_ whisper from Snape's far side, "... Just smile politely and change the subject as quickly as possible..."

"Tell me," continued Bob, "Is that wizarding society is unable to appreciate the concept of a plumb line or is it that proper – and safe – construction techniques are a muggle obscenity and, are therefore to be avoided at all costs. I don't care," he again, gestured at Ollivander's, "If that damn building is being held up by magic, magical-bloody elves holding hands or four elephants standing on the back of a giant bloody tortoise it should be torn down for being in contravention of about fifteen different building code violations - that I can see - and that's NOT including its casual disregard for the elementary laws of physics and its obvious disrespect for gravity."

Snape shrugged, still struggling with the aspect of the conversation referencing giant tutles, "Well Bob ... I..."

"...And another thing ..."

"Bob?"

"What ... Roley," Bob softened his tone somewhat on realising that it was not the professor addressing him.

"We're here to get me a wand; can we do that and not yell at the architecture?"

Bob took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as his considered his companion's [eminently reasonable] plea.

"Yes, Roley, of course, I am sorry; and sorry to you as well, Professor, as a visitor I shouldn't be so critical of your society..." Admittedly, this didn't sound particularly sincere when the man could be heard muttering an addendum to the effect that noted that 'these people wouldn't recognise a properly constructed building until it didn't fall on them ... gnah gnah gnah...'

Snape smirked, "That's alright, Bob and, for the record, you don't have to be polite on my account."

"Polite?"

"Your straight face needs work ... lots of work."

"Oh."

"Now, I believe we are here to get Roley a wand, so let us enter," he gestured towards the entrance.

Weasley and Potter had stood somewhat removed from the group, far enough away so as to afford them some measure of privacy recognising that they were interlopers, while at the same time being close enough to hear what passed between the group [they were, after all, policemen, and intelligence gathering was part of their role – this sounded a lot nicer that simply stating they were nosy].

"What does he mean by saying Wizards know nothing about building," he gestured about Diagon Alley, "What's wrong with wizarding buildings?"

Potter snorted in amusement, "I take it Hermione has never tried to build anything in your house by hand?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because if she had, you wouldn't be asking that question. Think about it Ron, a wizard building is constructed along the lines of 'we need that, make it so,' with no thought given to things like structural integrity, basic physical laws or building materials. Look at the Burrow..."

"What'dya mean, 'look at the Burrow'?"

"For Heaven's sake, Ron, you've got rooms that extend directly out into space with no visible means of structural support..."

"...So..."

Potter sighed, "Never mind, let's go see how Roley's getting on finding a wand."

Inside the shop – whose interior Snape had expanded with the same spell he had used to allow Roley entrance into Diagon Alley – the path of wand allocation was not running smoothly: admittedly, it was a rare occurrence when said process did run smoothly such was the propensity of the occasion to be punctuated with explosions, floods and various signs of the apocalypse, the historical plagues of Egypt and various other esoteric ephemera of impending disaster.

The process had started in the traditional fashion with Ollivander bustling out from the back of his shop looking for all the world like a psychiatrically-disturbed haystick. He took a moment to prove that he remembered who Snape was, before describing said luminary's wand and ensuring that some unfortunate event hadn't occurred to warrant its replacement; he then turned his attention to Snape's companions. Whilst Roley's presence took the man, momentarily, aback, it was the presence of Bob that shattered the wandmaker's composure and, while proffering his apologies for his reaction he was also heard to mutter something about the honour of having the heir of The Artificer in his shop.

"Now, gentlemen, what can Ollivander do for you this day?"

"We're here for a wand," replied Snape, "For Roley," he gestured at the machine.

"Why didn't the heir make one hi...sorry sorry, yes, of course ... step ... erm ... roll forward please, Mister Roley."

"Just Roley," murmured the road-roller.

"Yes yes, of course ... Roley."

Taking his magical tape measure – and its various accessories – from one of the many pockets that lined his robes, Ollivander cast it into the air, in the direction of the road-roller. The measure appeared to pause, hovering in confusion before making to return to its master. Rebuking the tool with an annoyed shake of his head, Ollivander flicked a dismissive finger in the direction of the measure's target and (apparently) shrugging in acquiescence the measure went about its business.

Momentarily, the measure finished its appointed task and flew into the wand-master's outstretched hand; Ollivander took several moments to review the results, his considerations punctuated by an assortment of 'hems', 'haws', throat clearing and, once, a murmured 'you can't be serious': finally, he returned his attention to the group standing in front of him.

"Well, you can't have a wand."

Bob's murmured 'oh no' was drowned out by Severus Snape's snarl of disbelief.

"What do you mean, 'He can't have a wand'! ..."

"I thought the statement was relatively self-evident," came the placid response, "however, if you would care to refrain from yelling like an addled banshee for a brief moment I shall explain," at the potion master's agitated nod of acceptance, Ollivander continued. "Now, to start with the basics, although this is more for you, Roley, and your friend the ... hei ... umm ... Bob. Magic, as you know, in humans anyway, needs an external focus through which to channel one's magical core, in the case of Roley, constructed as he is of magical metals, is an external focus in-and-of-himself."

"So you mean Roley can cast wandlessly."

"No."

"But he can't use a wand."

"That's right."

"So if he can't cast wandlessly and can't use a wand then he can't do magic."

"No."

Snape and Bob stared, in frustration at the master wand-maker. Somewhat surprisingly, it was Ron Weasley, who had walked in on the end of the conversation who provided the answer.

"I would imagine," he noted "that Master Ollivander is suggesting that Roley's body, due to its intrinsically magical nature, will act in the same fashion as a wand and wand core, however, he still needs a focus to channel the magical energy he naturally produces because, at present, his sheer size means that his production of magical energy will be dispersed over too wide an area to be useful."

Whilst Ollivander nodded enthusiastically at the young auror, Snape regarded his former pupil with a measure of ingrained suspicion.

"And how is it, Mister Weasley, that you should show such theoretical perspicacity? I remember the furniture in my classroom demonstrating a greater grasp of esoteric knowledge than you ever did."

"Sir, I'm wounded."

"I doubt that."

"Okay," grinned Weasley, "I'm not. As you're no doubt aware, Professor, as part of our auror training, we are expected to select a discipline for advanced study, in this way we develop an auror corps who retain a wide-ranging degree of specialist knowledge..."

"Yes yes..." acknowledged the professor, irritably, "...get to the point..."

"...To that end, I chose the creation, operation and maintenance of magical fields, which included wand theory, wandless magic theory, warding and a few other esoteric branches of magical field production," he smiled deprecatingly, "I turned out to be quite good at it."

Potter snorted in bemusement, "'Quite good' is possibly the understatement of the year, 'scarily brilliant' is how the advanced-level instructor described his research thesis." Harry smiled proudly at his friend, "Ron's already received multiple offers to leave the Aurors and take up work in the private sector as a consultant."

"The best bit though," smirked Weasley, "Is that I get to wave the words 'brilliant', 'genius' and 'wanted on five continents by every advanced magical research institution' in Hermione's face every time she gets on her intellectual high horse."

That last pronouncement actually caused Snape to snort, visibly amused. "So, how is it that this 'gift to magical research' was never uncovered at Hogwarts?"

Ron shrugged, "Never had the right stimulus or the right classes. Let's face facts, Professor, what I've turned out to be good at falls in the cracks between runes, arithmancy, history of magic and several other disciplines; it's neither fish-nor-fowl. The only way we would have discovered I actually had a brain would have been if the teachers had actually co-operated on a class that merged the various disciplines and..." here Weasley looked somewhat annoyed, "Frankly, Professor, you're all so busy trumpeting the superiority of your own disciplines, or perpetuating the stupid inter-house rivalries that you'd never even approach the idea of interdisciplinary co-operation with open minds."

Snape raised a sardonic eyebrow, "Whatever happened to '_Gryffyndor Gryffyndor uber alles'?"_

"I grew up," snapped Weasley. "Now, to Roley's problem; I would suggest, and you may well agree Master Ollivander, that what we're looking for is some sort of focusing object like a gem stone of some sort, something that can be placed on Roley's person."

"Like a hood ornament," noted Potter.

"Not helping, Harry," muttered Ron.

"But where are we going to get a focusing gem, and what sort of gem," asked Bob, and aren't gemstones expensive?"

Everyone looked at Ollivander, except Ollivander was looking at the red-haired auror, "I think perhaps Mister Weasley might be more helpful than I, focusing gems are a peripheral area of wand-lore, one that my family has never really investigated."

Weasley nodded easily, he was enjoying being able to put his expertise to use; he was also distinctly enjoying getting one over on Professor Snape, nothing personal – he was far too professional for that these days - but revenge was always sweet.

"Well, the best place to go for gems is Gringotts; the goblins use them for warding and they keep a supply on site. As to the type of gem," he took a moment to stare at the ceiling with a considering expression on his face (Bob was also staring at the ceiling, although his expression was one of professional horror, not consideration), "I would suggest that as Roley needs a collection and focusing agent, and not a stone that would generate and amplify power, we should be looking at something that is as free from impurities as possible; and don't worry about cost, the Goblins owe me a favour or twelve."

"Because you're an internationally renowned expert..."

"That's right, Professor; well that and I threatened to take Bill with me when I accepted one of those high-powered international contracts Big-Mouth Potter over there," he gestured at his friend, "mentioned. As competent curse-breakers are thin on the ground these days, the Goblins generally fall over themselves to be somewhat helpful;" he grinned nastily, "I love bargaining with Goblins when they haven't got a leg to stand on."

"So, Gringotts then?" inquired Bob.

"Gringotts," confirmed Snape.

Roley sighed.


	5. In the Land of the Prune People

_I apologise – this has taken me a lot longer than intended; especially considering the 'crack-fic' nature of its subject matter. In part, its very nature slowed it down as I re-wrote the whole thing – albeit in pieces – about three times as the flow and feel just didn't work at all. It started to take itself too seriously and was looking like turning into an actual story ...God Forbid!_

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy this installment._

_Please review and let me know if you still feel it's working, or if you don't or any other comments etc..._

_BTW: Happy New Year_

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><p>"Woss that?" asked Roley, as the group approached Gringotts.<p>

"It's a goblin; they own – and, by wizard treaty – run Gringotts," noted Weasley, who, by dint of his 'expertise', had become the _de facto_ leader for this part of the expedition.

"A Goblin, eh? Looks more like a very angry prune on legs – who's raining on his parade?"

"He's not angry, Roley," interjected Snape, intervening on Weasley's behalf to forestall the redhead choking to death as he desperately tried to recover from his reaction to the road-roller's previous comment. "His physiognomy simply appears as such to humans given that their default expression bears a passing resemblance to a human with a permanent scowl."

"Oh..."

"That being said," added Weasley, who had managed to recover a measure of his composure, "Goblins don't particularly like wizards..."

"With good reason..." interjected Potter

"...Yes, yes, admittedly, with good reason and they simply don't make the effort to disguise that dislike. Of course, disguising one's feelings is considered beneath a goblin insofar as it stops them bottling things up and going for your throat when they have to do something that they consider beneath them..."

"...Like dealing with wizards..."

"...Like dealing with wizards; although, God alone knows what they'll make of you, Roley."

"I imagine," noted Snape, "That they will have very little problem with Roley – Goblin relations with other magical species are high formalised and based on exquisite courtesy."

Weasley laughed, "That's only because the last dragon they were rude to turned a major branch of Gringotts into a passable imitation of a volcanic caldera; ever since, it has been policy to act as if anything that wasn't a wizard is potentially a large, powerful explosive device with a hair trigger."

"But don't wizards have magical powers too?" asked Bob.

"True," noted Snape, "But wizards also have wands and it is pretty much a case of 'disable the wand disable the wizard' as far as the goblins are concerned. You won't see them of course, but every Gringotts establishment is full to overflowing with archers and armed guards primed to deal with any wizard that even looks like they're going to do something 'funny'."

"Of course, some wizards are capable of casting without using their wands," added Potter, "But those wizards are invariably so powerful that the goblins usually operate private banking facilities for such individuals far far away from any potential misunderstandings."

"As you'd well know, Potter," mutted Snape, reproachfully.

Potter snorted in amusement, "As would you, Professor, as would you."

Snape shrugged.

"So goblins don't like wizards," noted Bob, "Can't say I'm overly partial myself if general exposure is anything to judge by."

Roley agreed.

The road roller was feeling somewhat despondent, such was his sense of displacement: hell, he didn't even fit the sobriquet 'A stranger in a strange land', such was the manifest difference in his ... he groped for a suitable adjective and settled, somewhat uncomfortably on 'configuration'... when compared to the majority of the close-minded, robe-wearing bigots who billowed around and about him. He was beginning to wonder if pursuing this whole magic 'business' was worth the aggravation, when he could have been at home, in Sunflower Valley, talking with his friends and playing with the various fauna that flooded the area on a regular basis.

At present he rated the squirrels and birds, with whom he was acquainted, far more highly - on any relative civilisation scale extant - and, from what he could see, said animals also tended to make more constructive use of any sticks that they happened to be carrying around.

Roley didn't have an issue with rude, he could handle rude – it was amazing, he considered, how quickly one found their manners when the relative attention paid to their request (in terms of speed and attention-to-detail) was in inverse proportion to the manner in which said request were framed. 'Please' went a long way. 'Do it now' meant an unfortunately long wait for materials to arrive from the builder's merchant where they were on order but, unfortunately, certain unavoidable and, indeed, unforeseen, delays meant that it was impossible to precisely estimate just how long delivery would take.

He didn't have a problem with stupid either. Performing - yet another – harebrained assignment for the 'moron-in-the-community' that was Mister Beasley, inured one to the ongoing effects of dealing with the mentally disenfranchised: and that didn't even bring that open-invitation-to-arson that was Spud the Scarecrow into conisderation. To be fair, Spud wasn't so much stupid as he was physically incapable of thought – having a pumpkin for a head tended to do that to a 'person'.

Unfortunately, Roley was finding that the vast majority of the inhabitants of the magical world weren't able to claim direct cranial descendence from the curcubita family and, as such, their stupidity, ignorance and outright malice was purposeful, and not vegetative, in origin. Personally, he didn't understand what the big deal was about waving a stick and wearing a dress (a dress that would not only have given the fashonistas, on the High Street in London, convulsions, but also would have been immediately removed from the wardrobe of any BBC costume drama for being too improbable. Even the realms of science fiction would have given pause before donning a wizard's set of robes; of a certainty he imagined that the Doctor would have taken the Daleks far less seriously if they had screamed 'exterminate' at him whilst coutured in the manner of an opulent set of velvet curtains. He shrugged, mentally – he certainly couldn't shrug physically.

"At least they seem to have a basic understanding of right angles," Bob's comment brought Roley back to the present.

"So you approve of Goblin architecture, Bob?" inquired Snape, archly.

The builder cast an assessing eye over the large stone structure that stood before them. Whilst it retained the aesthetic qualities of a brick that had given up on itself, it appeared, unlike the majority of wizarding structures they had passed, somewhat more inclined to retain a permanently vertical position relative to the ground upon which it rested without resorting to demented stick- waving in order to render manifest physical laws in abeyance.

"I approve of the fact that it can stand up on its own recognisance."

The potions master regarded his companion with a degree of bemusement, "I'm fairly certain that you can't use that particular locution in conjunction with that noun."

"Adjective."

"I think you'll find it's a noun."

"...And I think you'll find that I'm describing the building. Building is a noun – when it's not a verb – and adjectives describe nouns. As it's standing up all by itself, with all due respect to the laws of physics, it's an adjective."

"I think we're lucky you're a builder and not an English teacher."

Bob shrugged, "Young people have informed me that the language is evolving and that there is no such thing as 'correct' anymore, something" and here, Bob slowly turned three hundred and sixty degrees, "wizarding culture appears to have applied to architecture and minor details such as straight lines, physics, common sense, fashion... Now, while I am completely in favour of non-Euclidian geometry, I object to pathetic attempts to transplant aspects of a building into adjunct physical states simply because one has a magical stick."

Snape's rejoinder was interrupted from somewhere about the level of his groin.

"Did you people want something or were you blocking the entrance because you had nothing better to do?"

"Oooh look! It's one of the prune people," exclaimed Roley.

"What did you call me?" asked the goblin – clearly one of the bank's external guardforce - in the type of tone that boded ill for the respondent if the goblin wasn't pleased with the answer.

"I called you a..."

Weasley wisely intervened – before Roley inserted his wheels into a place that wheels were not meant to traverse, "I wish to see Archon Stoatgobbler."

"...And who are you to make such a demand of one so highly placed," sneered the guard, "The Archon doesn't converse with wizards." (The word wizard was ejected from the goblin's mouth in the manner of someone tasting tripe for the first time.)

"My name is Weasley, Ronald Weasley" murmured Ron, mildly; although there was no doubt from his expression that he wasn't going to put up with too much interference from a door guard.

The guard sourly acceded to inquire within. His return was notable for its increased velocity and for his (now) extremely pale (for a goblin, that is – a species whose usual complexion was somewhat orange-y and had thus been rendered a passingly pleasant tangerine colour ...), and sweating, countenance. Weasley moved forward to intercept the guard, more out of a need to prevent the guard, albeit temporarily cowed – from overhearing Roley's comments involving the use of verbs that generally consisted of the potential culinary implications for prunes after coming into contact with extremely sharp kitchen implements.

Ron could handle cowed; mortally-insulted-clan-honour-fight-to-the death he wasn't so sure about. He also refrained from advising the goblin to take them to his leader.

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><p>There was no need for Snape to cast the expansion charm on the Gringotts portico – not that the spell would have worked so covered in spell-nullifying enchantments was the entrance – as it easily accommodated the entrance of the entire group; and any other small island populations that happened to be passing by at that moment.<p>

Their guide, whose expression now bore a remarkable resemblance to a slapped arse, escorted them around the edges of the main foyer and directed them to proceed through a remarkably nondescript door, he muttered something about how he wasn't authorised to go beyond this point before abruptly turning and scuttling off in the manner of a dachshund threatened with a sausage machine.

On the other side of the portico they were met by another goblin, this time one clearly of more eminent stature – both physically and in terms of its place in the establishment's hierarchy.

"Good day Gentlem...beings," the goblin's recovery was exceptionally smooth, "...and, in particular, Mister Weasley," Ron cast a knowing glance in Professor Snape's direction, "How can I be of assistance."

Ron got straight to the point – you didn't give Goblins the chance to open negotiations as they tended towards a worldview that was spectacularly Faustian in terms of who got what and what terms were involved in such. "We need a focusing gem of the highest purity; preferably diamond, but high grade-carborundum will be acceptable and at least ten carats in weight with no occlusions or fissures."

Stoatgobbler cast a speculative gaze over the group, "Such a gem is not inexpensive, what would you offer in recompense?"

Roley wisely decided to not offer his floor flattening services and Professor Snape's strategically placed boot heel on the builder's toe prevented Bob from making an inappropriate comment involving basic geometry: if it had been a wizarding establishment Bob would probably have offered lessons in the care and feeding of a straight line.

"Well," considered Ron, "I would be willing to acknowledge provision of the gem as collateral payment for two of the favours that your establishment currently owes me for increasing the security of your vaults..."

"...But ..."

"...By a factor of ten ..."

"...But ..."

"...Which, I seem to remember, I didn't ask any reimbursement for ..."

"...But..."

"...As you said you didn't have the available spare capital to cover my services due to the massive refinancing of the wizarding world's rebuilding you were currently underwriting...'

"...Well yes...," agreed Stoatgobbler, reluctantly, "...But..."

"...You didn't think I'd ever call in (one of) my marker?..."

The goblin had the grace to look somewhat abashed, "...Err ...no."

"Tough. Of course, I could always inform various parties that your marker was worthless..."

The Archon turned the colour of the door-guard and made to leave the office "I'll have a selection of gems brought up immediately, please make yourselves comfortable."

Weasley smiled, albeit it was a smile defined by its remarkable resemblance to a nitrogen-based iceberg, "I thought you might," he then turned his back on the goblin – a sign of profound contempt – and faced Roley, "We'll have you sorted out shortly, Roley."

Roley, while pleased, was somewhat anxious, but his anxiety was somewhat belayed by Professor Snape who, in a move that would have caused generations of Hogwarts' students to immediately check that they hadn't somehow been cast into an alternate reality, placed a hand on Weasley's shoulder and commented in a none-too-quiet voice; "A masterful display of negotiation, Weasley."

Ron smiled, this time in genuine pleasure, "Thank you, Professor."

Bob looked puzzled, "That was negotiation?"

"It is when you're negotiating with Goblins," noted Snape, "The classic text in the field is titled: 'Goblin Negotiation and the Appropriate Use of Threats, Intimidation and Coercion in the Achievement of One's Goals'..."

"...Oh..."

"Don't forget the other seminal text, Professor: 'One Foot on the Throat, One Foot on the Genita...'

Weasley's recitation was interrupted by the return of Archon Stoatgobbler, who carried a large box.

"Alright then, let's get this over with."


	6. Diamonds are a Roller's Best Friend

_Look, another chapter in my crack fic – except this chapter isn't particularly crack-like. For a start, it's 1000 words longer than the defined parameters I set myself for each chapter and, further, there's all sorts of exposition relating to gems, goblin culture and all sorts of other garbage I had to pull out of my backside to make it work – thus, this chapter, we're a bit low on the jokes._

_Do you people have ANY idea how much extra writing you have to do to make something internally consistent? _

_Anyway, despite the fact that this chapter is wordy, over-long and late, I quite like it._

_As usual, this is [hastily] self-beta-ed and thus any mistakes are mine, or your imagination._

_Please feel free to shower me in reviews, or something: I hope you enjoy it._

* * *

><p>So what are we looking for?" asked Bob.<p>

Weasley surveyed the contents of the box with a critical eye, "None of this crap," he turned to the goblin, his expression somewhat foreboding - which to Snape, whose memories of the man still encompassed the freckle-faced earnestness of yesteryear, appeared somewhat incongruous.

He continued to thoroughly examine every gem in the box.

"No ... No ... Occluded ... No ... You could fly a broom through that fissure ... No ... I've seen poorly cut cubic zirconium do a better impression of a diamond than this ... well … I'll be generous and call it the failed cast-off from a graphite pencil."

"Tell me, Archon Stoatgobbler," began Ron, in a tone that had curlicues of flowers and prancing bunnies dancing at its edge, "Was there some point in the near future when you were going to produce something that actually met our requirements, or were you simply going to assume that my previous statement about rendering the integrity of your marker to the public-at-large as a load of complete bollocks?"

"Bollocks?"

"Yes, as opposed to bullocks; which is a group of male bovines."

Snape rolled his eyes. While he took no little pleasure in seeing the goblin discomforted, he had better things to do than stand around listening to Ron Weasley's version of witty repartee.

"Try again," Weasley continued, "And, this time, take my instructions seriously, or I won't just take my brother, set up my own company and destroy the confidence of your _bona fides_, I'll also…."

The goblin scurried - in a hunched, resentful fashion – away before Ron could finish his threat.

"Do I really need this gem-thingy?" asked Roley.

"Do you want to be able to do magic, Roley?"

"I don't know; at least not now, it all seems like so much trouble," he replied. Truth-be-told Roley was becoming increasingly ill-at-ease with the entire process. "I mean, magic sounds like a nice idea an' all, but ever since I've been here all I've experienced are angry wizards, frightened wizards, stupid wizards, ignorant wizards, magical attacks and surly goblins; frankly," he continued quietly, feeling guilty for even expressing such to the people helping him "This isn't a very nice place."

"Oh Roley…" Bob began, only to be interrupted by Potter.

"Roley," began Potter, in a quiet voice, "The thing to remember about the wizarding world is that, on the whole, they're a xenophobic bunch of technological throwbacks with all the perspective of a blind man in a black out…"

"Potter…"

"… Save it Professor, you know it's true…"

"Actually, Potter, I was going to congratulate you on your restraint. I, much as yourself, have good cause to know that if a bunch of fundamentalist, new-earth creationists, were going to try and set up home in the wizarding world, they'd be thrown out for being too radical. Frankly, Roley, I'd take the fact that seventy percent of everyone you've met so far has tried to insult you, incinerate you, eviscerate you as a good thing…"

"Yer wot?"

"What he means, Roley," continued Potter, "Is that, if you're going to be hated by someone for being who you are, who better to be hated by than a group of in-bred, evolutionary dead-ends who would argue with a thunderstorm whilst flying a metal kite."

"…Erm … could you be slightly less oblique."

By this point, Bob was grinning hugely, "What they're trying to say, in their own special way, Roley, is that you wouldn't be offended if Spud or Mister Beasley called you an idiot, would you?"

(This, Roley considered, was true. Spud, might have been a friend but, he was apt to get lost in one way-street, and Mister Beasley was a fearfully powerful argument for ensuring that people suffering from the more severe forms of dementia weren't allowed to aimlessly wander the streets pestering hard-working people with their retarded requests: like growing tropical fruit in the middle of England or, and this was Roley's favourite, trying to start a balloon-based, intercontinental shipping business based on the idea of raising a balloon and waiting for the rotation of the earth to make the intended destination arrive underneath the balloon's position at a point in the near future).

"Well ... no … not really. But tha''s different; Spud's a friend, an idiot, but a friend, and Mister Beasley is harmless, so long as we don't let him near machinery, tools, fruit, vegetables, grass… well … anything, actually."

"So then, why worry?"

"Because this place is different, all I see is fear and anger and hate … and that leads to the dark side. If that's magic, then I don't want it. I also haven't seen any birds or squirrels and I don't want to live in a world with no birds or squirrels."

"I would suggest, Bob," noted Snape, in a quiet voice, as he drew the builder aside, "that we'd best visit Magical Menagerie next, if only to procure Roley a friend. As he appears to have an affinity for animals the sooner we acquire him one the better."

"You're probably right, Professor."

While Snape and Bob were conversing, Archon Stoatgobbler had returned with another box, albeit one that was significantly smaller, and clearly more secure, than previous.

"I take it these," he indicated the contents, "Will prove more satisfactory."

"We'll see," replied Ron absently, his attention wholly on the contents of the box taking a moment to

hold each gem in his hands as he faced the road-roller. Finally, he came to a decision, selecting two gems from the box. "Okay, Roley, would you mind rolling this way?"

Snape and Bob turned their attention, from their _sotto voce_ conversation, to the auror and the machine. "So what do you have Mister Weasley?" inquired the professor.

"As you can probably see, two options. The first, is a Chrysoberyl, extremely hard, excellent warding stone, makes an excellent anchor for a runic series; the only issue I would have is that it isn't as 'pure' as the other option, which is a Citrine, which is pretty rare; at least naturally occurring Citrines are, that is."

"What do you mean by, 'pure'?" asked Bob.

Ron considered for a moment, clearly trying to determine a non-technical explanation that would, nonetheless, makes things clear. "I guess the first thing I should say is that 'pure' is a meaningless term, as a gemstone is what it is and, for obvious reasons, there wouldn't be different types of gems if the different classes and families of gemstones didn't have bits of this, that and the other floating around in them. When I use the term 'pure', I could just as easily say, 'simple', but that's even worse, so we'll go with a stating that a 'pure' gem is less chemically complex, in terms of its constituent compounds than an non-pure gem."

"You following this, Potter?" inquired Snape.

"Nope; he lost me somewhere between the fourth comma and the third big word; you?"

Snape snorted, "I recognise the individual words, but not in the order Weasley's using them; are you certain that his claim to some sort of expertise are in fact real and not an ongoing delusion resulting from exposure to one-to-many concussion spells?"

"Unfortunately not," came a growled response from the level of Snape's waist, "Weasley knows exactly what he's talking about; you don't think the Archon of a Gringotts Branch runs around like a lobotomised velociraptor just because some random wizard says so?"

The professor acceded to the Archon's point with a smooth inclination of his head, "I certainly didn't think you were doing it out of the goodness of your heart."

"You got that right," muttered the Archon sullenly, he then continued with unexpected candour. "We're under orders from the governing council to pretty much give Weasley whatever he wants; our debt to him is too large to simply ignore. Those threats he made earlier are more than just words and, if anything, are understated, if Weasley wanted to he could walk out of ANY Gringotts branch with the entire security contingent, including warders, curse-breakers," Stoatgobbler paused to consider, "Even the secretaries."

"So why did you bring him a box of substandard gems."

The Archon regarded the builder with a look that clearly implied the man was insane.

Snape intervened.

"Standard Goblin business practise, Bob; even though the goblins acknowledge the debt, and will honour it to the letter, it is within their cultural practises to try and get away with bending such."

"So they were trying to cheat, Ron?"

"Not really, it's more of a test."

"Test?" queried Bob, clearly not understanding.

Archon Stoatgobbler took up from where Snape had finished. "A large part of the notion of goblin debt surrounds concepts of 'worth', although 'worth' is' neither' necessarily about the debt or its value. Rather, the worth, and worthiness, of the person claiming the debt against the Goblins are what is considered. If Weasley had accepted a gem, which were deliberately substandard, from that first box, then his worth, per the incurred debt with Gringotts, would have been able, under our social conventions, to be challenged. That Weasley immediately sent the gems away – with an insult to clan honour – indicated that his right to claim 'worth' was still valid."

Bob's eyes had glazed over by this point.

Meanwhile, Ron was still explaining gem properties to Roley, and Roley, unlike Potter and Snape, seemed to be getting it.

"So 'purity' is relatively to the simplicity of its chemical structure. Thus diamond, because it is solely carbon…"

"…Although some diamonds contain other trace elements which make them coloured…"

"… Is considered the 'purest' gemstone."

"That's right, Roley." Ron smiled and cast an arch glance at the others, "Him, I'll hire when he finished Hogwarts; the rest of you, not so much."

"So why's purity so important? Does it make the gem more powerful?" asked Bob.

Ron shook his head, "Purity has nothing to do with power, but everything to do with the ease with which it can hold and conduct magical energy. Thus, the more chemical variation in a gem's composition, the greater the proportional likelihood for an unpredicted interaction, between the magic and the gem, to occur."

"Bad?"

"Boom."

"Very bad."

"The problem is, of course, that we can't predict when, or even if, such a reaction will happen."

"That's why it's unpredicatable, then."

"Something like that. The reasoning for looking for gems with no occlusions, fissures or other structure is similar; structural faults increase the likelihood of a catastrophic failure occurring."

"Boom?"

"Exactly."

"So why, Mister Weasley," queried Snape, "Did you choose the citrine and the chrysoberyl over the diamond? By your logic, the diamond would have a higher degree of purity."

"True, but, if you were paying attention, you would have noticed that I held each gem and 'pointed' it in Roley's direction."

"Not really, but go on."

"Essentially, I was testing the resonance field of the stone in reference to the magical field that Roley naturally emits - insofar as he is made of magical metals."

Now it was Snape's turn to look glazed – albeit it was unclear as to whether the look devolved from Weasley's explanation of the fact that the explanation came from Weasley - and, ironically, given their past history, it was Potter who placed a reassuring hand on the professor's back. "Just nod and smile Professor, just nod and smile; it's what I do."

For his part, Roley wasn't puzzled in the slightest, it all made perfect sense to him.

"Anyway," continued Weasley, the diamond is a nice stone but it, for want of a better word, 'feels' wrong, the citrine and the chrsysoberyl, however, do not: all that remains now is for me to touch each stone to Roley and see what happens."

Bob looked worried, "Boom?"

Weasley laughed, "No, it's simply a magical-field interaction test, no actual magic will be channelled through the stone; I guess it's a bit like when a wizard first finds their wand, a kind of 'recognition' occurs, which given some have theorised that wands are, at least, semi-sentient, makes some measure of sense, except…" he noted, seeing Bob's blank expression, "…Obviously, to you; having never seen a wizard choose a wand before. Perhaps Professor Snape can explain it to you later."

Roley was more concerned about tests, "Will it hurt?" he asked.

Ron shrugged, "Don't know, shouldn't go boom though."

"That's not very reassuring,"

Despite his obvious nervousness, Roley gently rolled towards Ron who, for his part, raised the chrysoberyl and gently touched it to Roley; the result, while pleasant, was anti-climactic, with only a gentle shower of golden sparks falling to the floor.

"Now, the citrine," said Ron, raising it, like the chrysoberyl, and touching it gently to Roley.

As he exploded into a coruscating aura of light Roley's quiet voice could be heard noting, "That's quite nice, that…"


	7. Give or Take A Hundred Metres

_I see that it has been over a year since I updated this fic, my crack-fic; there are two primary reasons for this:_

_[1] My wife and I had another child – and consequently, with two little ones, have been crazy busy_

_[2] The worst case of writer's block ever – this affected ALL of my writing_

_Combine those with a seeming total lack of interest, by readers, in my writing, and I simply didn't see the point in trying to schedule through [1] or fight past [2] but life is a little less busy now [ha!] so I have a bit of time to try again; well that and the continual encouragement from Skyrere to keep writing – in large part this chapter has appeared because of her._

_So let's see how it goes. I'm a bit rusty, but I've beta-ed this pretty strongly to remove the really bad bits; as usual, with my fics, I apologise, at large, to the Western cultural, literary, theatrical canon._

_Please read and review._

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><p>The Wizarding world no longer used Dementors.<p>

After the fall of Voldemort, vast (well, those that had actually survived the war) herds (if you accept single digit numbers as a herd) of rogue, (which implied that at some point they were law-abiding) dementors, bereft of job opportunities and vilified in polite society due to their choice of alliances, attempted to ravage the countryside, albeit 'ravage' came to be defined as the occasional feeding on the terrified thoughts of an errant sheep.

With no dementors available to 'staff' the wizarding prison - on the (still) god-forsaken, rock of Azbakan - aurors were stretched to the limit in that all justice fuctions, both practical and administrative, had been rolled into the purview of the auror corps and this, in practical terms, had meant that Potter and Weasley were required to do more than act as chaperones to the (truly strange) Strangers in this (extremely) Strange Land: in fact, the only reason that they had managed to stay with the group as long as they had was Potter's bureaucratically sanctimonious peroration, which used an inordinately large number of words to state that: 'We are the police, we are investigating.'

Unfortunately, the pair had been summoned to 'see a man about a dog' (admittedly, an extremely large (and angry) direwolf with, apparently, an untreated case of _carpe wizardium jugularum_), and had apparated away immediately upon the group's return to Gringott's; although Weasley had taken a moment to have a quiet word with Roley _(which, through the wonders of editorial manipulation, we'll take you to now). _

"So wot am I supposed to do with this rock."

"Citrine…," corrected Ron, in a gently amused tone.

"I''s still a rock," amended Roley, somewhat obstinately, albeit his tone was distinctly less aggrieved than earlier - when holding forth on the cultural shortcomings of the wizarding world, wizarding culture, wizarding manners, goblin manners… wizarding couture… (but not wizarding architecture).

Weasley shrugged, "True enough, but it's a rock that will, eventually, allow you to perform magic."

"…Still struggling to see what's all-fire marvellous about doing magic, other than the apparent ability to make you act like your head's permanently wedged somewhere anatomically and geographically distinct from the top of your shoulders."

"Again, true enough, but you'll find that there's more to it than that. You'll also find that not every wizard is suffering from, as you put it, geographical displacement; take Professor Snape, for example."

Roley had to concede that Professor Snape did indeed appear to have his head in the anatomically approved position.

"Let's also note, Roley, that you're young, and while I can't say I am certain as to how Road Rollers' age, I am pretty certain that the spells surrounding your enrolment were initiated off some workable arithmantic calculation congruent with the standard aging process in humans…"

"…Arithwhat?..."

"Never mind, let's just say that age brings, if not wisdom, at least a little perspective. When I was your age, my considered opinion was that Professor Snape would be infinitely improved if he was set on fire; I have moderated that position …" Ron grinned disingenuously, "… somewhat. The thing is, Roley, you've only seen the confused, the deluded and the prejudiced – which, admittedly, accounts for a statistically significant proportion of the wizarding world - there's an awful lot out there that is far less … let's just say, 'distasteful', and is, in fact, magical - so give it a chance, a true chance. "

Roley looked at the young wizard with the mechanical equivalent of a bemused expression, "You sound like an advertisement from the Better Business Bureau."

Weasley shrugged, "I suppose that is better than some of the things my wife calls me. Right, I have to go, apparently I'm supposed to do my job; at least that's what he," he gestured in the direction of Potter, "Tells me. Good luck to you Roley, we'll meet again."

* * *

><p>"So, where to next?"<p>

Professor Snape cast a considering glance at the ceiling of the atrium. Taking into account Roley's stated opinions on Wizarding … well everything … he thought it best if trio headed someplace that was likely to create a measure of positive associations for the machine: "Magical Menagerie, I think, Bob, let's get Roley a familiar."

"A familiar what?"

"Working on the assumption that you're not being deliberately obtuse," and Snape gifted his companion with a saturnine glare – albeit one tinged with amusement, "I'll explain. A familiar is, for want of a better term, a companion animal, albeit one that can, over time, come to share a deeper bond than the notional, and generic, master-pet relationship."

"Deeper?" Bob queried.

"Depends who you want to believe. More conservative sources contend that the bond one has with a familiar is nothing more than a degree of heightened emotional attachment to, and awareness of, one's familiar and its needs."

"So you know when it really needs to use the litter box?"

"Something like that."

"What do the less conservative sources say?"

"The tree-hugging, fairy-fringe believe everything up-to-and-including the ability of a strong familiar bond to grant the human aspect of the partnership some of the abilities of the familiar."

"Does the familiar get human abilities?"

Snape smirked nastily, "That would be where there argument collapses faster than the top order of a particularly poor cricket team; but then the connection this group has to reality is, at best, sporadic. Admittedly, the conservatives' connection with all things rational is similarly stunted, but that's largely because they are so busy admiring their superiority complexes that they wouldn't recognise reality if it met them on a darkened side-street in Victorian England and offered to give them a formal introduction to their spleen. "

"Nice imagery. Now, as you … what the hell is that!?" Bob had stopped dead and his features had assumed such an outraged cast that Roley surreptitiously edged his gearing into reverse.

"What... is what ... precisely, Bob?" inquired Snape in a tone of voice generally attributed to hostage negotiators and suicide hotline operators.

"That … building!" The builder jabbed a finger in the direction of a particularly haphazard structure that was coming in to view as the group moved away from the bank.

"Ah," said Snape, "That would be Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, it is, for want of a better term, a joke shop." 'Joke shop' was uttered in tones of profound funereal malevolence. "I believe the premises have been blown up one too many times in the course of the proprietors' experiments and, as such, the building has suffered somewhat.

"It's in direct defiance of gravity," Bob snarled, "It's only held up by the fact that it's so ugly that the earth repels it."

Before Bob could offer a rejoinder, Roley gently rolled over his foot – this is, of course, in the relative sense of 'gentle', where the several ton-in-weight road-roller tried not to turn the builder's foot into a fine paste; fortunately, the ground, where Bob was standing, was relatively soft, so the only impression made on the populace at large - and their environs - was a substantial divot (and a muffled shriek).

"You promised you'd leave the architecture alone, Bob," muttered Roley, "Remember, this visit is all about me and is not an opportunity for you to re-enact your Grand Designs aspirations."

"Yes, Roley," sighed Bob, albeit with a discernibly militant undercurrent , "But, it's nothing that a set of high explosives won't fix. If you don't mind waiting, I can be back in half an hour with a few sticks of gelignite - and a blasting cap or two - that will clear the abomination right up."

"Roley gave his friend a knowing look, "I don't think so. You'll find some excuse to be gone an hour and you'll be back with a fully armoured panzer division and a boxed set of surface-to-surface missiles and you'll level the central business district; let's just leave the buildings where they are and get on with things; I don't really want to be here all day."

Roley turned his attention to Professor Snape, "Is that okay, Professor? Can we move on? I can see the entrance to Magical Menagerie from here."

Professor Snape, however, appeared somewhat distracted.

"Professor? … Is there something wrong? … "

"Trouble," was the only response.

"Malfoy, actually," came a voice from under the awning of one of the other merchants located on the street, "But Severus was ever wont to dramatise."

"It's not drama Lucius, it is resignation tempered through experience. While it is true you are a friend and, in your own way, a loyal one, you are also an opportunist of the first order, an unsurpassed bigot and you possess a sadistic streak so wide as to make Donatien Alphonse François blush like a choirboy and, I believe, it is said in the finer establishments about town, those are your good points."

Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly. "True enough. But I am also incredibly wealthy, exquisitely well- mannered and I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters mathematical and I understand equations, both the simple and quadratical…"

"You're not going to break into song, are you?" interrupted Bob, looking politely horrified.

"No, he isn't," noted a dry voice from directly behind Malfoy. "Father, do stop playing the fool…"

"If you insist, " Malfoy senior, demurred, "Although, it would be true to suggest I've never found the motley particularly becoming…"

"…And there's also the fact that Uncle Severus will hex you into the middle of next week if you don't stop acting like one of the mentally disenfranchised."

Malfoy smirked, "Very well, Draco, if you insist, and I am sure you will, acting as you are _in loco parentis_ for you mother; honestly," the man continued in a somewhat frustrated tone, "you'd think I couldn't be trusted to go out in public without supervision."

"You can't be," muttered Snape and Draco simultaneously.

"Well that was an overwhelming vote of confidence," noted Malfoy wryly. "Anyway, my manifest faults aside, Severus, will you introduce me to your companions?"

The Professor was immediately wary, "That is entirely dependent on whether I'll need to have your mouth bricked up at any point in the immediate future. I've already had to provide a measure of remonstrance to two of your former colleagues…"

"…Remonstrance? Severus, you threatened to turn them into furniture polish…"

"…Sounds like remonstrance to me," noted the senior of the Malfoys, "What do you think, Draco?"

"That would depend on precisely whom it was that Uncle Severus was remonstrating with."

"Pucey and Flint," was the answering growl.

"In that case," noted Draco, turning his full attention to Bob and Roley, "Remonstrance is probably fairly apt description as neither of the people in question have sufficiently evolved language skills to be able to understand anything short of a direct threat."

"But…"

Draco shrugged, "That he threatened to turn them into, as you say, furniture polish, was for your benefit; in times past Severus would simply have obliterated them and have done with it."

"Obliterated?" Bob was shocked,

Now, it was the professor's turn to shrug, "Less labour intensive."

"Oh…"


	8. My, what large teeth you have

_So, I am trying to write again. I've pretty much given up on my Firefly fic - not enough reviews or interest (other than from a couple of devoted folks) to warrant the amount of work needed to make it fly - this story, however, still amuses me, and a bit of fun is always a good place to re-kindle a passion for writing._

_More apologies that usual: Thus, to Ancient Greek Myth and Legend, Goscinny and Uderzo (per the adventures of Asterix), Eric Carle, Star Wars, The Bible, The Irish Rovers, John Wyndham, Star Trek… I'm sorry, so very very sorry…_

_As always, this is rapidly self-beta-ed, any mistakes are my fault or your imagination (I also, as a note, use British English spellings, because that's what us Kiwis do...)._

_If you read this, and enjoy it, please review – it warms what passes for my heart._

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><p>Finally, here was a shop in which Roley didn't expect to feel like a fish out of water - inasmuch as a road-roller bears as much resemblance to a fish as a … umm …road roller. Anyway, Roley knew about animals. There was a small sign in the front window proclaiming that Magical Menagerie was 'Under New Management' but that didn't mean much to Roley and even if it had the thought would have been immediately whisked away as he entered.<p>

Because, animals.

Wall-to-wall animals; there were even animals hanging from the ceiling, albeit those tended to habitate cages suspended from hooks rather than being explicitly attached to the ceiling, although there was some … thing … that looked like the bastard mating of the Very Hungry Caterpillar and the suction arm of a pool cleaner.

"It's a hydrapillar."

It was the younger of the two Malfoys.

"Yer wot?"

"A hydrapillar. Technically, it is a member of the caterpillar family and, by technically, I mean that the categorisation wizards at the ministry didn't know where else to put it. The arms that are, amongst other things, attaching it to the ceiling, self-replicate twofold upon physical removal, where the removal is viewed by the organism as a threat. The nomenclature is taken from the wizarding tale of Hercules and his Twelve Tasks; specifically, his encounter with the Lernaean Hydra. "

"I thought, Hercules was a one of our, I mean – from your perspective - muggle, stories?" questioned Bob, who had overhead the end of Draco's explanation.

Draco shrugged, "It's possible, I guess, for there to have been a degree of cultural cross-pollination between wizard and muggle society, especially at the level of myth and legend; after all, the societies were not always so markedly separate, and it also makes sense for the stories to have diverged contextually as the societies because increasingly isolated from each other.

"So Hercules was a wizard?"

"In our telling, yes; his super strength came from falling into a cauldron of strength potion as a baby."

"I thought that was Obelix," muttered Roley.

Bob, much to Snape's trepidation, turned his attention to the elder of the two Malfoy.

"So, Mister Malfoy,"

"Lucius, please…"

"…Very well … Lucius," acknowledged the builder, politely. "May I enquire as to your connection with the professor; it appeared that Severus was somewhat dismayed about running in to you. While he did state that you were a friend, he was also less than complimentary about some aspects of your personality."

Malfoy laughed. "Yes, he was remarkably tactful. To answer your question, we attended the same school; although Severus is several years younger than I we moved in similar circles."

"But he called you a bigot."

"Oh, but I am," Malfoy confirmed cheerily, "And if I had my way, you base-born muggle scum would be wiped from the face of the earth with extreme prejudice, and wizarding kind would rise to take its rightful place at the apex of society. No offense," he added, "It's a philosophical position, nothing personal."

Momentarily taken aback, Bob considered the older wizard with an appraising gaze. "That's very forthright although I'd hesitate at trying to claim some sort of racial or, for that matter cultural, supremacy until you had mastered, for example, things like straight lines."

Malfoy sneered at the shorter man, "How terribly mundane. What need have we of straight lines when we have magic?"

"Because waving a stick - and saying a few words - is so much more impressive than actually knowing what you're doing." Bob's sarcasm was piquant, "And further, I'm still struggling to understand what it is that makes you superior. If it is magic then, since muggles can produce magic-wielders and," he looked at Snape for confirmation of something he'd said earlier, "wizards produce non-magical people, then your variable for defining superiority is nothing more than random chance. If it isn't chance, which, incidentally, rules magic out as the variable that makes you intrinsically superior, then magic is a tool, and you're nothing but a bunch of tradesmen; not," he hastened to add, with wry self-deprecation, "there's anything wrong with being a tradesperson."

"We know what we're doing."

"Which is…?"

"Well, you make a motion with your..."

"I see; so because you don't actually know how it works we can't even really call it tool, can we?"

Malfoy's veneer of politesse was starting to crumble, "I have no need to justify my beliefs to you."

The builder smiled in a fashion that was well known to owners of felines everywhere, "Would that be because you won't, or because you can't; because if the level of eloquence that you'd be required to expend would equal the depth of explanation you provided with respect to the operation of your magic, then I'd shut up and stop digging."

Malfoy was now close to imploding and Snape made the decision to intervene, if only to preserve the structural integrity of the building; but his initial movement was forestalled by a gesture from the muggle, who was clearly moving in for the kill.

"Feel as superior as you like, but don't waste my time with inane declarations that you can't actually back up. Now, after you've had your little tantrum and - by-the-way, I can introduce you to a three-year-old who can give you lessons on holding your breath – I'm fairly certain that you'll wave your little stick and try to curse me into the middle of next week … and the very best of luck with that … however, as the philosopher noted: "You can't win, Darth, if you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine."

The only sound heard was a certain Road Roller's eyes rolling whilst simultaneously heading for the ceiling.

"Darth? Who is this Darth? My name is Malfoy, you ignorant savage." The spittle that was starting to emerge from the patriarch's mouth appeared, from Snape's perspective, to be verging on the pyroclastic, and this time he moved more decisively to intervene; if anything, this incensed Malfoy further.

"How can you associate yourself with this rabble, Severus? You once thought as I."

Casting a quick 'I'll explain later' over his shoulder in the direction of his guest, Snape regarded his friend steadily "I grew up, Lucius," he paused, before continuing, his tone sad "'When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things'; perhaps, you should go home… Draco?"

"I think you might be right, Severus… Come, Father…," however, Draco had barely made move in his elder's direction when the pop of displaced air signified his father's apparition, "…or maybe not. I imagine he's gone home to sulk, Severus. I guess I should go after him, but then," he grinned wickedly, "Perhaps later … after I've explained more about magical creatures to your friend; come Roley..."

Severus and Bob watched the pair disappear into the throng of shoppers with both men wearing a slightly bemused expression.

"Bob, can I ask you a question?" queried Snape, his eyes still fixed on the departing pair. "You know how magic works; you were there when Weasley explained it to Roley, albeit in very simple terms, at Olivanders."

The builder failed to hide a smirk, "…And? ..."

"Oh… nothing,' replied Snape.

* * *

><p>"So what sort of animals are you allowed at Hogwarts?" Roley queried, as he and Draco progressed deeper into the shop.<p>

Well, traditionally, animals allowed at Hogwarts have been limited to cats, rats and toads."

"Not elephants?"

"Elephants?"

"How about humpy-backed camels or chimpanzees?"

"Erm… no."

"Pity," said Roley, eyes twinkling, and Draco began to get the idea that he was being had.

"Anyway," Draco continued, "Those three animals are what have been traditionally allowed into Hogwarts. Over the years, there have, of course, been exceptions, usually tied to family tradition or the existence of a pre-existing pet that had bonded with the child and separation was considered to have the potential to exert a negative welfare outcome on the child."

"You sound just like Mister Bentley."

"Who?"

"The voice of all things bureaucratic back home, you want some paper shuffled, he's your man;" Roley's attention was diverted, " 'Ere, woss that?"

Draco turned his head to see what his companion has seen and his face blanched when he spied the bulbous looking plant with the long neck and stubby legs, "That's a triffid; and it shouldn't be here – I must speak to the owner."

"It's kinda pretty; looks like mutant orchid."

"You'd be the only one who thinks so then, Roley; it would kill you as soon as look at you."

"But it doesn't have any eyes.

"Fine," Draco assented with a degree of exasperation, "'Sense' you then. It would track you, chase you down..."

"Don'' look like it can move very fast though…"

"It can move fast enough… now, where was I?"

"Being chased…"

"Right, so after it chases you down, it strikes out with its long, poison-filled stinger … usually aiming for the …" Draco paused, realising precisely to whom it was he was relating this information to, "Eyes … whereupon the person is killed and the triffid comes to wait by their… um… corpse until it begins to putrefy."

"Putre-wot?"

"…Until it rots; they eat carrion…"

Roley managed to suppress his laughter, "Not much chance of that happening with me, is there?"

"Well, no," conceded Draco, "You're probably the only person in the British Isles who could keep one without having to worry about it. Of course, that hasn't stopped others trying, and some of them have even managed to live to tell the tale; and by some, I mean one, and that's only because the mad sod is a half-giant and he retains enough of his magical heritage to be partially immune to the venom." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Anyway, you usually find triffids in high-security greenhouses and not," and this was delivered in a scathing tone, "In a magical pet shop surrounded by bloody children."

"Okay then, what about that thing over there, the lizard-thing by the pigeon-thing?"

"Your descriptions are spectacularly…" Draco's bemused comment tailed off, for if Draco had been dismayed at the presence of the triffid, the depth of his pallor now indicated that something was seriously amiss.

"That's not a lizard-thing, Roley; well" he conceded, "It is a lizard, but it bears as much relation to a lizard as a sparrow bears to a roc."

"Is that bad?"

"It's a bloody Carcharodontasurus, it eats two buttered elephants with a slice of toast for breakfast; of course it's bad, although," he noted, "It does appear to be somewhat on the small side. Hang on a second." Draco withdrew his wand from an inner pocket and waved it in the direction of the 'lizard-thing'. "Well, Roley, it would appear that someone has been playing around with magic…"

"…Oo woulda thought, this being all things wizard-land an' all…"

Draco scowled briefly at this, before continuing the analysis of his magical scan, "…And, much like a poodle, it's a miniature…"

"Bu' i''s twelve foot long."

"That's right, just under a third of standard size."

"So how do you know so much about dinosaurs, Draco?" interrupted Bob – he and the professor having managed to catch the pair up.

"Dinosaurs and dragons have a common ancestor on the evolutionary line."

"Evolution?" queried Bob, sounding skeptical, "You lot believe in evolution."

Snape rolled his eyes, "I think you meant to say, 'You lot haven't figured out how a straight line works, and you expect me to believe that you're aware of evolutionary theory'; and in response I say, We're wizards, Bob, not savages."

"If you say so, Severus;" although his expression cast significant doubt on the veracity of that somewhat anodyne response. However, before the builder could, once again, mount his cultural high-horse, Roley stepped, well, rolled, in.

"Can we not do this again, Bob. Can't we just find me an animal - without the unnecessary editorial commentary?"

"'Unnecessary editorial commentary, Roley?'" Bob asked.

The road-roller shrugged, or the mechanical equivalent of such, "Dunno where that came from, Bob, it was like some sort of outside force took hold of my speech and directed what I was going to say."

Snape looked slightly worried at this statement, but given the events of the day decided it just wasn't worth worrying about, after all, after a wand fight in Diagon Alley, focusing gems, an intelligent Weasley and cowed goblins who was he to raise an eyebrow at a sentient machine being (potentially) remotely controlled – after all, he wasn't even sure if:

[a] Imperius would even work on a machine

[b] You could control someone's speech over distance.

"Okay then, Roley, what sort of animal, would you like?"

"I dunno, to be honest; back home I'm friends with all the animals, so I've never thought about having a special animal like a, what'd you call it, a flamingo?"

"Familiar" amended Draco.

"Tha''s it, a flamingo."

"What about bird?" questioned Bob, "He's a pretty special friend of yours."

"Naaaaaaaaaaaah! Bird's Bird; he wouldn't go in for none of that familiar stuff, he'd think I'd gone daft."

"True," agreed Bob, knowing full well that if Bird had attended Hogwarts with Roley, he would have, in all probability, spent most of his time rolling his eyes at the absurdity of what his friend had got himself into. "I think, Roley, that you need something that's going to provide you with a degree of calm and reassurance whilst you're away."

"I fink you're right, Bob, but what…"

"Might I suggest one of these?" queried a new voice, which belonged to a man dressed – even by the standards of wizarding couture – in a somewhat idiosyncratic fashion. Held before him, in his cupped hands, was a pile of luxuriant fur and from this pile of fur emanated a deep contented rumble of a purr that was felt thorough the soles of the shoes the three men (and the wheels of) the road-roller whom had gathered around the interloper to examine his cargo.

"What's that?" queried Draco.

"This? Why this is a tribble…"


	9. My Kingdom for a Tribble

_Well, I'm writing, if you can call writing somewhere between 50-100 words a night (if I'm lucky) writing – essentially, I am having to relearn the skills and disciplines of, if you will, my craft – it's painful, and difficult, especially when your two children would rather you growled like a monster and chased them around the house instead of parked yourself in front of the PC._

_Anyway, apologies if this is a bit rough._

_On in happier news, I would like to note that I am quite proud of the sheer number of pop-culture and lit references I managed to squeeze into this chapter; frankly, if you can manage a Lovecraft, Adams and Homeric references in a 2000 word chapter you're not doing too badly. (I'll also note that I have played pretty fast adn lose when canon notions of transfiguration...as if this story isn't AU enough as it is...*sigh*)_

_As always, all mistakes are mine, or your imagination. _

_If you are still reading (the very few of you drawn in by my insane vision) please leave a review, it is much appreciated._

* * *

><p><em>Nothing is impossible for the man who doesn't have to do it himself.<em>

_**A.H. Weiler**_

_Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge._

_**- Paul Gauguin**_

* * *

><p>"…And what, pray, is a tribble?" Inquired Snape.<p>

"Well," replied the man who, it was relatively quickly established, was indeed the proprietor, "It is much like a small, furry creature from Alpha Centauri."

It was rare that the Hogwarts professor was completely nonplussed by a response to - at least what he considered to be - a relatively simple question; yet the unremarkable inquiry was met with a non-sequitur; it wasn't as if he had asked, for example: why there were triffids on display and precisely what a large carnivorous dinosaur was doing in the middle of the store.

Bob's eyes, however, were sparkling with mischief.

"He's teasing you, Severus; small, furry creatures from Alpha-Centauri are referenced in a well-known literary work, they don't actually exist."

"Oh indeed they do," corrected the proprietor, "I was there recently."

"Where? Alpha Centa…" Bob paused, the question unfinished; clearly they were dealing with a madman. "On further consideration, never mind."

The proprietor smiled beatifically at his interlocutor.

Taking a settling breath, Bob decided to redirect the conversation back to the matter at hand: the tribble, which was now perched on Roley's bonnet purring ecstatically. For his part, Roley had almost gone cross-eyed watching the small creature.

"So what can you tell us about this 'tribble'?"

The proprietor's eyes scanned the ceiling as he searched his memories for the pertinent information. "Let's see: Don't feed after midnight, don't get wet…"

"…That's the gremlin, this is a tribble…" came a smooth-voiced interruption, originating from an attractive woman who was approaching the group "Generally, tribbles eat and they reproduce, both uncontrollably, however, we have modified our tribbles so that the latter trait has been somewhat ameliorated."

"Ameilorated? In what manner?"

"Tribbles normally reproduce through an asexual mechanism, we have circumvented that mechanism."

"And how have you achieved this, at the very least you would need to tinker with the creature…"

"…On a genetic level, which is what we did," the woman sounded quite pleased with herself, "We simply switched that gene sequence, that controls reproduction, off."

Snape looked scandalised, "But how do you know if you haven't created any downstream negative consequences, look at what happened with the Shoggoths."

The woman smiled (in such a way that Snape had to be forcibly restrained by Malfoy and Bob) and exaggeratedly wiggled her fingers in the direction of the aggravated potions master, "Would you believe we used magic?"

"But no–one's working with magic on that level."

"I am," noted the shop's proprietor, mildly...

"…And who, other than being…" Snape gestured at the animals in the store that had caused Draco such consternation "…Someone potentially certifiable, are you?"

"Me? I am The Doctor."

"Doctor…'Who'?"

"Precisely."

At this, Snape went dangerously quiet. Well everything except his eyes went dangerously quiet, his eyes threatened all manner of things, some legal, most not – but mainly they held the promise of rendering his tormentor into a small (toxic) puddle (which – or perhaps, who - in the interests of utility, would be recycled as a potion ingredient).

Knowing his (former) professor's moods well, and more, the way in which the professor tended to express said moods, Draco moved to intervene. It seemed that even blonde-ferrets, blonde-_argent-provocateur_-ferrets could move beyond well-established reputations; albeit reputations gained on the wizarding equivalent of the 'playing fields of Eton' and not in the grown-up world where one's schoolyard companions were either dead or rotting in Azbakan. Grown-up reputations (or at least the opportunity to acquire a grown-up reputation) were oft-times founded on the ability to survive the stupidity of one's youth and Draco, for all that he was the scion of blood supremacists, and indoctrinated in the tenets of hate and prejudice, had never been stupid and, consequently, was neither dead, nor imprisoned.

"How about we let the gentleman explain his position, Professor; remember, it's considered exceptionally bad form to disintegrate someone without giving them a right of reply."

"That courtesy only extends in formal duelling, Draco," amended Snape, "Where personal insult has been given and both parties are provided the opportunity to air their grievance and, where appropriate, either retract or confirm the relevant statements. In this instance, the gentleman has not given personal offense, I am merely considering disintegration as a form of public service."

"Best of luck with that," muttered the proprietor's companion.

Roley, for his part, was getting tired of the constant drama. Back in Sunflower valley a bit of drama went a long way – although what passed for drama in that bucolic locale usually involved one of the village idiots taking on some Sisyphean endeavour with less evident planning than Custer's Last Stand. Admittedly, Custer's Last Stand hadn't resulted in the Little Bighorn being reduced to a glowing nuclear slag (and fortunately, neither had Sunflower Valley been reduced so) but the analogy was congruent.

Here, drama was outfitted in bespoke Wagnerian couture.

First Diagon Alley, then Ollivanders, then Gringotts, and now this; for pity's sake, he was here to acquire a pet not debate the ethical parameters of genetic manipulation; Roley didn't even know what genetic manipulation was other than that it involved some chap named Monsanto, some magic beans and a beanstalk that went way beyond the standard definition of what constituted such. He imagined Mister Beasley would have got in a right lather trying to find the correct paperwork to authorise the construction of a fifty-storey vegetable.

But most of all, he was tired of the shouting…

…The threats…

…The inane posturing that seemed to be based on massive overcompensation relating to the size of one's wand. While it was true that Weasley and Potter's words of encouragement had somewhat mitigated his burgeoning mistrust of the magical world, he could really rather have done without the constant need everybody seemed to have to mark their territory in the manner of an overly-zealous dog; and Roley was quite fond of dogs.

Yet, even acknowledging his increasing antipathy to the situation, Roley found that he didn't have the energy to be angry, or even upset; all he wanted was to quietly reverse into a corner (taking the tribble with him). For its part, the tribble was [still] ecstatically purring and, Roley considered that, if it had been a machine, it probably would have shaken itself apart. This would have been bad as he had his doubts that Bob could actually repair a tribble. A car: yes; a chainsaw: absolutely; an automated milking machine: no problem – but something small and fluffy? For all his mechanical acumen, Bob was barely capable of organising his cat, so Roley didn't hold out a lot of hope for a dismantled tribble.

Admittedly, Roley wasn't inclined to regard his friend with a large degree of favour at that point in time; in fact, it would have been accurate to note that Roley was irritated with the builder. While he sincerely appreciated the man's support and guidance, he could have done with significantly less of the apparent cultural shadenfreude that was positively oozing from the man. While it was true that the builder was a fan of order (and organisation … and planning … and precision) it was also distinctly out of character for him to take pleasure in the mistakes and failings of others. Bob was the living personification of the adjectives compassion, tolerance and understanding but, in the here-and-now, he was positively wallowing in watching the haphazard, and illogical, operation of wizarding society. What was most frustrating to the road-roller was that Bob's enjoyment of events didn't appear to be derived from an innate sense of superiority, or the cynicsm that often evolved from watching people achieve the exact opposite of their grand proclamations; instead the ongoing going commentary, pertaining to how you couldn't change the laws of physics, was combined with the mindless enthusiasm of a tourist let loose in WhizzyMcFunLand, with an unlimited budget and no parents in sight.

If Roley had been a parent – a mental image that somewhat boggled the mind – or a little bit older, he would have recognised that the builder was simply giddy at being in a situation where he wasn't responsible for anyone - although he was nominally chaperoning the machine - or anything like he was in pretty much every other facet of his life and that sense of freedom from responsibility had had the unfortunate effect of (temporarily) disabling the social filter that normally existed between Bob's brain and Bob's mouth.

The machine sighed gently to himself. He was by nature a positive being, but the increasingly interminable trip, one that was starting to rival Odysseus' return from the Trojan war for its protracted nature, was wearing him down and his patience, not to mention his endurance, was at a low ebb; hopefully things would resolve themselves soon (although he wasn't holding his … erm …breath…).

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, back at front…:<p>

"So what you're saying is that you've found a way to stabilise an enforced genetic mutation without having to worry about potential downstream consequence."

"Something like that," agreed the doctor in an amicable fashion.

"But how?" inquired Snape, his curiosity clearly overriding his aggravation. "Low-level transfiguration can enforce a degree of permanent change but only because of the inherent simplicity of the material being worked on; either that, or the imposed change is cosmetic. With advanced transfiguration, especially on live subjects, the process is essentially an ongoing mediation between the wizard's magic and the intrinsic nature of the subject – with the power of the wizard being an additional variable. What most people aren't aware of, because they return their subject to its original form within a nominally short time period, is that, eventually, a live subject, even something as simple as an amoeba, will revert to its original state, even if that reversion time is measured in centuries; the more complex the organism, the quicker the reversion."

The doctor nodded sagely, "Yes, that's correct; but sometimes permanent changes do happen…"

Snape sneered, "…And can you name one of those times where the resultant 'permanent change' wasn't a complete disaster? No doubt you know of the idiot apprentice who attempted to transfigure a broom into a semi-sentient helper, and almost flooded most of Yorkshire; fortunately, his master, a much much stronger wizard, arrived in time and was able to cancel the spell; and, no doubt, you're aware of the origins of the Leithfold?"

Again, the doctor nodded sagely, "An unfortunate attempt to transfigure a tea-towel if I recall correctly?"

"Look," Draco interrupted, "This is all very interesting but beside-the-point; how are you circumventing the intrinsic nature of the host's DNA in order to change them to a permanent degree?"

"I'm not. As your colleague so astutely noted, unless something untoward – or serendipitous - occurs a live organism will always revert to its natural state."

"But you said you'd found a way to 'stabilise an enforced genetic manipulation'," noted Bob.

"No, I said I'd done 'something like that'Yes, in the case of the tribble we turned off the relevant gene sequence that controls reproduction, but with the other creatures I've actually slowed the organism's normal response to magic, so that the period between the transfiguration being cast and reversion to the normative state is extended."

"To what extent is this 'response' slowed," inquired Snape with the degree of suspicion normally reserved when discovering people on your doorstep asking if you can spare a moment of your time.

"By a period of about several hundred thousand years if I recall correctly…"

"Oh."

"But what happens in several hundred thousand years?" asked Bob.

Snape, Draco and the Doctor (and the Doctor's assistant) all looked at the builder with a similarly puzzled expression, "What do you mean, Bob?"

"When the organism, or whatever it is, reverts to its original state, what happens then?"

"It would be dead, Bob; nothing lives for hundred-of-thousands of years."

"That you know of. How do you know that this man's," he gestured at the proprietor, "Tinkering, hasn't changed the very nature of the creature's lifecycle."

"I can confirm that it hasn't," noted the subject of Bob's question.

"How?"

"I have my ways, but you'll just have to settle for accepting that it's a kind of magic."


End file.
